Cherry Wine
by Quiteokayish
Summary: France's marriage proposal is accepted. Abuse and infidelity, human names used.


**Trigger warning: physical and emotional abuse**

* * *

 _Francis_

Arthur's eyes may have been green, but at the time I could have sworn they were made of actual fire. They wounded me, searing holes deep into my heart that would sizzle and crack for several moments before settling, leaving me feeling empty except for the steady ache that would stay there for days. I took a sip of cherry wine.

"I swear to God Francis- you will sit down at the table this fucking instant or I'll strangle you."

"I'd like that." I said with a wink which, looking back, wasn't the best thing to do at the time. Arthur's green eyes widened, his mouth hanging open for a few moments before he reeled back, then brought his fist up and hit me square in the stomach.

I doubled over, coughing. It had been a while since he had hit me like _that_. The occasional halfhearted slap was something I had grown used to the more we fought, but Arthur had never made it evident that he was trying to hurt me, only to shock me or get my attention.

I wiped my hand across my mouth, and was surprised when I saw red liquid smeared on my palm. At first I thought I had spilled my wine, but no, this was blood. I coughed again, feeling a little dizzy. For such a small man, he sure knew how to hit.

" _Do not_ make jokes right now." Arthur said, his voice dangerously low, though his eyes flickered for a moment with something that looked like concern, before going back to their searing heat. "I'm fucking _livid._ "

"I noticed, _mon amour_." I managed to get out as I straightened up. His gaze was still all fire and embers, so I avoided it, opting instead to look at the hand he'd just punched me with. The knuckles were noticeably red. "I didn't mean anything by it." I added.

"You… you utter prick." Arthur ground out, his voice now shaking. My first instinct was to reach over and pull him into a hug, but I had half a mind to keep my distance after that outburst. "How can you be so casual about it?"

"I'm French." I said, wondering how on earth he didn't understand. "Seduction is my greatest talent."

I saw Arthur clench his fist, and I took a step back, not wanting to be anywhere near him at the time.

"Yeah sure, that's fair." The Englishman said, "But not while we're fucking _married_!"

Oh.

I pursed my lips, so that was what he was getting at. He didn't like me sleeping with other people.

"I thought you didn't feel anything for me." I said softly. "I thought this arrangement was solely for political purposes."

"It is." Arthur insisted. "But can't you keep it in your pants? Am I not enough?"

I gazed at him for several moments as I tried to find a way to say that no, he wasn't enough, and he never would be. Arthur and I had sex, sure, but it was just that. Lustful and empty and hard and fast, and then it would be over. He would always get up and take a shower, and I'd lie in bed, hoping he'd actually stay in my room for a night.

But he never did.

Sex was good, but it wasn't what I needed. When I slept with a stranger the night before, I had been positively starving for affection. I could always tell which ones would give it to me, too. I needed to be held, and to hold someone in return. I needed be told I was lovely, and I needed someone to whisper sweet nothings to as we made love. I needed someone whose arms I could fall asleep in, and who'd sit with me the next morning and eat breakfast. I needed a lover, and Arthur… he was only a husband.

When I didn't answer, Arthur simply shook his head and left the room, cursing as he went before he stomped into his bedroom and slammed the door. I put a hand over my forehead. He knew this was just an arrangement, didn't he? He knew that we shouldn't be expecting much from each other. When we were first married I tried to move us along, to morph this melancholy circumstance into something more. I used to kiss Arthur's cheek regularly; I'd make him breakfast and try to hold his hand. Each gesture was turned down however, as if the fire in his eyes had traveled into the tips of his fingers and he feared he would burn me.

* * *

 _Arthur_

I didn't mean for things to get out of hand, and I didn't mean to hit Francis. It had all happened so quickly- the admittance of guilt, the lack of apology, and that damn smirk on his face completely threw me off. I couldn't take it anymore. I wasn't invincible.

I had ignored Francis's one night stands for a while, telling myself and others that he was out with friends, that he was just taking a little longer than usual to get groceries, that his car broke down or anything in between.

That was easy enough, but on the mornings when Francis came home, disheveled and grinning and hair in a state of just-been-fucked, it was hard for me to pretend. He'd been discreet at first; always coming home at an excusable time, looking put together and relaxed. Right around that time however, he stopped asking me to sleep in his bed, and his displays of affection dwindled, disappearing for weeks at a time. As things progressed he was more apathetic about it, coming home with the smell of someone's perfume on him, not even bothering to hide the hickeys on his neck.

It made me sick.

Francis didn't love me, and I didn't love him. We were both painfully aware of this fact, that our entire relationship was made of paper, a façade that we put on to keep political ties and to increase our economies. A part of me wished it was frail, that it would break apart at the slightest whim and then I'd have an excuse to let go, to not care at all, to do whatever I wanted and sleep with whomever I wanted, just as he did.

However, we had an image to keep up. _But what was stopping me from doing the same as Francis?_ A voice in my head asked, and I closed my eyes. I was an animal in an unlocked cage, with the hunter standing close by, daring me to try to escape.

My God, I wish I wasn't so stubborn.

Even so, all I had to do was fool the public in to thinking things were going well, and I was doing damn well. Francis was as well, hiding his side romances and different mistresses from the public eye with great ease. I wondered how he managed to keep up an act like that. It was then that the thought struck me.

If he could do it, so could I.

It wasn't that I particularly needed someone to sleep with, Francis was plenty enough. No, it was an act of defiance that led me out the door and down to a pub. I didn't know if Francis was home, but a part of me relished in the thought that he might notice I'm gone, that he might feel the same dreadful, stinging jealousy that I felt whenever he missed dinner. The thought was childish, if not sadistic, and I briefly wondered where my sanity had gone when I pushed open the doors to a dimly lit, smoke laced pub that I hadn't gone to since before my marriage.

I ordered some scotch on the rocks, drinking two-three-four-so many that I lost count. My head started feeling light, and the world around me became a little less dreadful.

"Hey- Britain dude!"

I turned at the sound of a familiar voice, and saw Alfred F. Jones of all people approaching me, a grin on his face as he came and took a seat next to me.

"How have you been? I haven't seen you in a while." He said, ordering some bourbon before turning his attention to me.

"I've been fine." I lied. "And how are you?"

"Oh, it's alright." Alfred said, his voice losing its regular lilt as his eyes remained on me. "Are you sure you're okay Arthur?"

"There's nothing wrong." I said, and the American cocked an eyebrow.

"Really? Because you're crying."

My hands flew up to my face, and I angrily wiped away my tears. How had I not noticed that? Had anyone else seen it? I frantically rubbed at my cheeks, fully intent on recovering from this mess and continuing our conversation, but I felt a hand grab one of my wrists and pry it away from my face.

"What's wrong?"

And that was it- all it took for me to snap, shattering into a million different pieces that would be impossible to put back together as I turned myself over to the suffocating sadness in my mind. I began to cry- to actually cry, and there was nothing I could do to stop it.

Though I had expected him to excuse himself by now, Alfred simply grabbed my hand and urged me out of my seat. I followed as he led me out of the pub and into the cool night air; tears never stopped rolling off my cheeks.

He hailed a cab, still holding my hand as we got in and he gave the driver the address- a shitty motel as it turned out, but I didn't expect anything else from the man.

My tears had begun to subside now, and Alfred ran a hand through his hair at he stared at me, our fingers still intertwined.

"I'll order takeout." He said, taking out his phone and making the call. When he finished he slipped it back into his pocket and looked at me. "I'm only in town for the weekend; I've got a meeting to go to. I've got some cheap beer in the fridge, but I don't think you should have anything else to drink right now."

"Like I'd want your watery excuse for liquor, you git."

At that Alfred grinned. "There's the Arthur I know."

We reached the motel and Alfred led me upstairs, where he (despite what he said earlier) offered me beer, and I (despite what _I_ said earlier) took it. In my mind I tried to shove away the thought of where this was going.

"So things are rocky with Francis then." Alfred said after I had ranted heatedly for several minutes. "We all saw this coming. You two weren't exactly made for each other."

"I should have _never_ said yes to this." I said, "Dear God, he just sleeps with anyone, any time he wants. He doesn't even pretend to care about this marriage at all."

"Maybe you should separate." Alfred suggested, scooting a little closer to me. I sat at the floor next to his bed, a can of shit-for-beer in my hand and my face surely flushed.

"Maybe." I said, knowing that it would be impossible. The marriage was vital to Francis's country, and a great asset to mine. We'd just have to carry on.

But that didn't mean I had to sit idle- and I surely didn't want to. For years I'd been dwelling in the shadows, watching as Francis did as he pleased, twisting my emotions this way and that. The man could use any excuse he wanted for sleeping with other people, I didn't care. Not anymore.

Alfred stared at me, a frown on his lips that I suddenly realized were strikingly lovely. It might have been the liquor talking, but my mind danced with the idea of kissing him. It would cause a shift in our relationship surely, whether for good or for bad, I found myself not caring. My mind swam with thoughts of lust, of the young man sitting in front of me who I'd always admired from afar. I'd never been permitted to look at him like this, even before I was married. I had a husband, and a part of my mind screamed at me to avert my eyes, to apologize and go home. The other part however, was burning with excitement as I leaned closer.

I waited for him to make a move, and though I half expected him to push me away, it only took a moment for Alfred to meet my lips with a short, chaste kiss. It electrified me, lighting up every vein within me as my insides burned with a new and fresh desire, one that didn't come with a bitter aftertaste. It was Alfred, not Francis. Alfred didn't play with me. He didn't hurt me, not like Francis did. None of this was an obligation, but for once a true want. My head was light as I captured Alfred's lips before they could pull too far away, pushing against him hard and passionately as my hands came to roam his body.

He returned the action, and before I knew it, we were a mess, and then we were naked, and then we made love, actual goddamn _love_.

* * *

 _Francis_

The next time Arthur hit me, I saw stars.

I had been sitting up the entire night before, confused and concerned that the house was empty, that Arthur didn't answer my texts or respond to my calls. I tried to shrug it off and go to bed; he was probably out with friends. After all- he wasn't tied to me, even though I may have wanted him to be. That much I knew.

Midnight came and went, and I was drowning in unrest. I had bought roses, as well as the ingredients for a decent dinner. I had purchased his favorite scotch, and my telltale cherry wine. I intended to apologize to him, because my sleeping with other people was upsetting him, and I had just caught on to that the day before. I could still remember the fiery hot anger in his green eyes as he shouted at me. The image had been branded into my memory.

The worst part was, I didn't know how far I'd gone, only that it was too far, and that Arthur didn't like that. The anger he displayed the day before had ignited a small hope in me, that perhaps he cared for me after all, and simply didn't know how to show it. That spark was enough for me to come to a decision. If he wanted it, I would change, as long as he tried to do the same.

I didn't sleep at all that night, and once the clock showed three A.M. I grabbed my bottle of cherry wine and ran myself a bath, climbing in and soaking for a good hour as I ignored the persistent voice in the back of my head that continuously told me the worst.

 _Arthur was with someone._

I shoved the thought down my throat, and washed it away with wine as I raked my fingers through my hair. If that was the case, then I didn't know how to feel. I had been sleeping around after all, and it wouldn't be my place to condemn him now.

But anger- the same red, hot and burning as Arthur's eyes were the night before- soon made itself present. A thought came to mind that terrified me- he'd gone out without telling me and found someone to spend the night with. Or perhaps- I took a breath- perhaps he had intended to find someone to sleep with from the very start.

Oh God, was I jealous.

I knew perfectly well that I had no right to be, but that didn't stop me from clenching my teeth and cursing as a strong wave of rage crashed on to me, then smaller waves of sadness, embarrassment, and fear.

I didn't sleep at all that night.

Arthur came home at around eight o'clock the next morning, and I was still wide awake when I heard the keys turn in the door, then someone stepped in and kicked off their shoes before making their way down the hall. I didn't want to do it, but my legs moved on their own will, and I found myself dashing out of my bedroom to stop him, nearly running him over as I did so. The first thing I noticed was the lingering alcohol on his breath.

"Francis what- Jesus Christ you look like shit."

I probably did, but Arthur looked…

 _Absolutely fantastic_.

His clothes were a bit messy, his pants low on his waist and his shirt sliding down his shoulder to show his neck and chest. There were love bites there, two to be exact, one on his collar bone and one just below the jaw. His face had a fresh blush across the cheeks and his hair was mussed from sex.

My heart stopped in my chest, and for a moment I thought I'd pass out. This was him. This was the Arthur I had always wanted to see. He was satisfied and laid-back, even happy. He was properly marked and tousled, and for once, there was no anger in his eyes. They were a remarkable, shining green, the same as they were before he was forced to marry someone he didn't love.

And then it hit me- that I was not the one that made him like this. For a moment I wondered how on earth some lucky bastard had done so, since I'd been trying to put Arthur in this state from the very first time we'd had sex.

Then it filled me again- a suffocating rage that made my throat constrict and my hands shake, and all I could ask was why. Why hadn't I ever been able to do this with Arthur? Why had years of trying only been met with a steel gaze? Why did he decide to let down his walls so suddenly, and why wasn't it for me? Why was the blood rushing to my head, distracting me to the point that I barely heard what he was saying?

"What are you gawking at?" Arthur asked, the blush on his face growing.

I blinked. I would be civil about this. I would not lose control.

"Who was it?"

"W-what?" Arthur's eyes widened, and I thought I saw a hint of fire in them. I treaded my ground carefully.

"Who were you with last night?"

He looked away, his eye brows knitted with frustration. "It's none of your business."

"You're right." I said as he pushed past me, but I grabbed his hand before he could get too far away, "It isn't my business, but might I ask why?"

"Why what?" the sentence was more of a statement than a question, as if he were daring me to speak. I stepped up to the challenge.

"Why did you go and sleep with someone?" I tried to keep my tone level, but it probably wasn't working. My heart was beating rapidly as that hole he'd seared in it returned, this time aching from the waves of anger that pounded against it relentlessly.

"Oh, I don't know." Arthur snapped, the familiar fire back in his eyes. "Maybe because my husband gets to sleep with whomever he wants, and leaves me high and dry nearly every _fucking_ night. I assumed he wouldn't mind if I did the same."

I took a step back. So that was it then? It was because of me?

"But that doesn't mean you had to…" I started, but couldn't finish, because Arthur's fist had connected to the side of my head, sending me crumbling to the ground as the world around me turned upside down for several moments. I breathed in and out, counting to ten, and then my vision became clearer, and I could hear a voice.

"Dear God Francis, look at me."

I tried to sit up, and though I struggled for a moment a hand grabbed my arm and helped me get into a sitting position. I felt my back hit the wall, and let myself relax against it as I attempted to control the dizziness that engulfed me.

"Hey, say something frog!" I blinked, and as my vision cleared I saw deep emerald eyes meeting mine, but there was no anger left in them.

"Are you alright?" He asked, and it took a moment for me to find my voice.

"I think so."

"Christ Francis I-" Arthur's voice choked, which caught my attention. "I didn't mean to- I don't know what happened- I'm sorry-"

There was fear in his eyes as his fingers gripped at his hair in a way that could only be painful. I wanted to comfort him, and my trembling hand came out to cup his cheek, running my thumb across as if to wipe away the tears that weren't there.

Arthur froze, and I thought he would push me away, expected it even. To my surprise, he only leaned into it, his hand coming up to rest in the crook of my elbow.

I stared at him for several minutes. It was this that I had hoped for. It had always been this. I wanted him to accept me, to let me show him affection and to receive some in kind. I wanted him to press feather light touches against my skin as he did now; rubbing his palm against my forearm with a soft and sweet look in his eyes.

If this had been happening from the start, I never would have dreamt of leaving his side.

"Are you alright?" he asked, and then I noticed the tears streaming down my face. I didn't know their source, because I was still angry and jealous and afraid, but now I was melancholy and- dare I say it- hopeful.

" _Oui_." I breathed, a small smile on my face.

"Then why are you crying, idiot?" he asked, coming in closer to me. I brought my hand to press against his back, and gently urged him to lean into me. To my joy, he did, and rested his head against my shoulder as I held him in my arms, our bodies scrunched up so that we could fit in the narrow hallway.

"Sorry." Arthur said simply, and I pressed a kiss to his forehead.

"I'm sorry too."

Then our hangovers began to take us, and as I closed my eyes one last time I came to terms with all of it.

We might reconcile, but no matter how hard I tried I would end up sleeping with someone else, and eventually Arthur would as well. He'd still hit me, but probably not as hard at first. It would dissolve, and he would become angry again, and we would fight, just as we had done so thousands of times before, then we'd make up, come together, then repeat the process. It was as familiar as the back of my hand. In the end, I was his and he was mine, and that was the way it would always be.

Though we wished with all our hearts it wasn't.

* * *

 **A/N: This story was based off of the song "Cherry Wine" by Hozier.**


End file.
